


Empty Threats

by chii



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-27
Updated: 2012-03-27
Packaged: 2017-11-02 14:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chii/pseuds/chii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t wear the helmet forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Threats

**Author's Note:**

> more dumping of these two. ABLOOABLOO my heart, i have so many drabbles of them. this is basically ERIK AND CHARLES AS OLD MEN because i love them :(

He can’t wear the helmet forever.

Both of them understand it, and Erik-- no, Magneto, it’s so rare he even hears that name anymore, usually only in his own head, Charles’ disapproval as palpable as the metal he bends in his hand whenever it starts.

Charles never digs too deep-- he can’t sleep with the helmet on every night, and yet Erik finds that he never pries.

Never digs fingers into his head to find out what he’s doing next. Never pushes too hard, too far, to find out what is going on, never abuses that power he's been _blessed_ with, not cursed.

 _‘The knowledge of what is abuse of power and what is not is important. It is what makes us--’_ Charles starts, in the middle of the night, and even like this, he sounds tired.

 _‘It is what separates us from them, old friend,’_ Erik responds, cutting him off before he can start, because for all that the years have made Charles more wise, he’s still as naive as the children he fosters and teaches. The friend title has stuck, though; Erik’s not sure if it started because of Charles’ stubbornness, his need to keep calling him that, or Erik’s own almost mocking tone, all the times he said it finally becoming something normal. ‘ _The ability to do what is necessary is one you still lack.’_

 _‘Would you rather I pick everything from your mind, piece by piece, Erik?’_ Charles asks wryly, though they both know he won’t, not like this.

Never like this. Not between friends, and that’s exactly what they are, all these years later.

 _‘Empty threats, Charles,_ ’ Erik chides, and shakes his head. ‘ _Now go to sleep.’_

He doesn’t fight; he’s tired, even now, and for all that he’s gotten used to the idea of a wheelchair and the years his legs have been of no use, he still finds they ache every so often, forcing him to roll over, and not think about any of that. ‘ _Maybe_ ,’ Erik says faintly as the connection fades, ‘ _you are just getting old.’_  
 _  
‘...only as old as you are,’_ Charles returns, and lets the connection slide off as they both go to sleep, though he finds he can’t, not for a few hours of staring at the ceiling.


End file.
